


First Aid

by SweetsAndTreats



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Broken Bone, Doctor - Freeform, Fluff, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, TMA Big Bang 2020 (The Magnus Archives), around s3 or s4 ish, light omniscence, locking yourself in the bathroom is 10/10 best way to handle your issues, medical anxiety, sterile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetsAndTreats/pseuds/SweetsAndTreats
Summary: Jon is certain Martin has been acting strangely all morning. When Martin offhandedly mentions he took a bad tumble off the tube to work, Jon suddenly Knows that the fall had given Martin a nasty fracture. Despite his desperate pleading, Martin stubbornly refuses to let Jon drive him to the hospital. In fact, it seems he would much rather take care of it himself than have Jon worry and fuss over him. Jon would disagree.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 23
Kudos: 333
Collections: TMA Big Bang 2020





	First Aid

**Author's Note:**

> Excited to post my piece for the 2020 TMA Big Bang!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20
> 
> And, again, another hurt/comfort fic because I'm sort of a sucker for the things.
> 
> You can find artwork for this fic/support the other wonderful creators participating in the event on their Tumblr page, here: https://tmabigbang.tumblr.com

From the moment Jon had first walked into the Institute that morning, he had felt something distinctly “off” with his day. Just this sort of...uncomfortable feeling, that had formed right about at the center of his chest, nagging him every few minutes or so with a sharp tug of unease.

A year ago, perhaps Jon would have been fully content to disregard any off-kilterness he’d felt, possibly chalking it up to a poor night’s sleep. These days, however...he had gotten in the habit of taking any abnormal urges or “gut feelings” with a grain of salt. Which in this case, really didn’t do much to help the matter of his stewing anxieties.

Any wariness at his own unease only served to heighten the sensation into a dull anxiety that stayed with him all the way until he was shut tightly in his office downstairs, locking the door behind him in hopes of not being disturbed. Whatever this was, something supernatural in nature or simply unrelated paranoia, Jon didn’t think it would do him any good to worry the others.

And the best way he could do that was by going about his day regularly. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to simply ignore the dull tug in his chest, as such feelings generally tended to be more helpful than not these days, but Jon really did have quite a lot of work to get through.

Something had gone wrong upstairs in Research: whoever normally sent statements down to Archives after they were recorded had gone on a leave of absence, and no one had thought to keep up their workload. So there was about a month of backed up statement files that needed sorting and, if necessary, recording. All of which practically overflowed Jon’s desk, and the meager floor space between it and the door.

So for the time being, any feelings of unease were going to have to be treated as nothing more than a nuisance.

Which was much easier said than done, as it would turn out.

It was simple enough to ignore the sour feeling as he lost himself in the mundanity of sorting files, but Jon just couldn’t seem to stop  _ fidgeting _ . Almost entirely unconsciously, he would shift in his chair, cross one leg, then the other, then neither. Lean forward on one hand, then back against the chair, then to the side on an armrest.

Each time the movement interrupted whatever train of thought he’d been following, and Jon would have to dedicate a full half a minute to finding another comfortable position in his desk chair before resuming his work. It was impossibly distracting.

And still, he had no good way to pinpoint the source of this sudden, and dully mounting, anxiety. Focusing on the documents themselves was becoming difficult, even without interruption.

There was an easy solution in this of course: nothing got him focused quite like a recorded statement. Whatever effect they had on him, he knew it would serve to quash this damned fidgeting.

Not that he didn’t have statements to spare, what with the pile of boxes he’d amassed in his office. But...Jon had just done one on The Vast just the other day, and he didn’t think it entirely wise to attempt another so soon.

He let out a long, low sigh as he leaned heavily forward against the desk, resting his chin on arms folded over a filing box. A stack of papers he was supposed to be sorting sat in front of him, but Jon’s eyes were on the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster as one hand drummed absent-mindedly against the thin cardboard.

Good lord, why was he so  _ distracted _ this morning? It was getting a bit ridiculous, honestly.

After repositioning himself in his chair for the third time in under a minute, Jon decided that he’d earned a break.

Nevermind that his day had only started just over an hour ago, and he’d hardly gotten anything done in that time regardless. But maybe stretching his legs a bit would do him some good, dispel some of the anxious energy and allow him to finally concentrate some.

But as he stepped out the door, if anything, it was markedly  _ worse _ in the hallway. Definitely not a good sign. Jon was half-tempted to turn right around and take his chances with the desk chair again. He likely would have, actually, if he hadn’t caught sight of Martin in that moment, hovering at the other end of the archives.

Jon couldn’t tell exactly what he was doing, looked like setting down his things on the desk in the corner, but something powerful gave Jon the sudden urge to see exactly what. Which was  _ really _ not a good sign.

As Jon approached, he noted that Martin looked a bit, well...off, from a distance. From this distance, it was hard to pinpoint exactly why. It was something about the way he was holding himself, Jon thought, that seemed wrong.

“Martin,” Jon called over with a small, friendly wave.

Martin jolted, turning his head round instantly. The motion seemed jerky as if he were still trying to stay facing forward while looking around. Slowly, the rest of him followed the turn of his head, eyes brightening considerably as they fell on Jon.

“Oh, ah--good morning!” Martin said cheerfully, managing to only stumble on the first few syllables.

“Yes, good morning Martin, I--” Jon cut himself off sharply. The moment he’d come to a stop in front of Martin, that same fidgeting unease hit him full force to the chest like a concentrated blow from a hammer.

It wasn’t pulsing inward this time though, not the same tugging about his ribs, but flowing outward: rippling from him and coming to concentrate directly on Martin. “I, uh…”

“Jon?” Martin watched him curiously, a bit of worry leaking into his voice. “Are you alright? You look a bit...pale.”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Jon shook his head, re-centering himself. He glanced up with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, “Thank you, Martin.”

“Well...alright then,” he looked unconvinced.

“Martin how--how have you been?” Jon’s voice was tight as he attempted to keep a bit of the fresh worry back. “Are you feeling alright?”

For a brief moment, one Jon might have otherwise missed if he hadn’t been watching so carefully, something akin to panic flashed across Martin’s expression. It was gone just as quickly, however.

“F-fine, for the most part,” he sighed, “How about you? Are you...feeling alright? You’re acting a bit strange.”

“Hmm, right,” Jon muttered distractedly, angling his head to the side a bit as he looked Martin over. Nothing  _ appeared _ out of the ordinary, anyways. Still. “Martin is there--hm, there’s nothing you want to tell me, is there?” Jon straightened, leveling Martin with a grave look.

“I--well,” Martin let loose a small, short laugh, some of the tension replaced with a shy awkwardness, “Nothing gets past you these days, does it? Well, I--I suppose that makes sense. I haven’t been having the best morning, admittedly. Took something of a nasty fall on the tube, on my way in. B-but I’m perfectly fine, now! Just a bit rattled, is all.”

Jon didn’t respond immediately, instead watching him with that same, scrutinizing look. Martin shifted uncomfortably under the attention, seeming to put weight into all the wrong movements.

Jon’s eyes widened in sudden realization, as a small bit of clairvoyance wiggled its way to the front of his thoughts, clearing away any remaining unease in a wave of clarity.

“Martin I,” Jon swallowed thickly, struggling a bit with how to phrase it, “I think that tumble must have been a bit worse on you than you think.”

“What? No, Jon, I said I was fine,” Martin insisted, making the mistake of lurching back defensively. The small hiss of pain, as well as the way his folded arms tightened against his chest, was more than enough proof for Jon.

“Earlier you--when you tripped over the step down from the train car, you landed directly on your right arm. I’m really not trying to alarm you, but I think you may have fractured it. Badly.” Jon said it all in a hurry, uncertain how Martin would take the news.

Surprisingly well, as it would seem since he merely gave Jon a small, one-shouldered shrug. “I told you already, I’m perfectly fine. See?” With a small wince, Martin attempted to wave his arm about a little. It wasn’t much, but his expression quickly turned pained. Martin bit down hard on his lower lip until he’d repositioned himself once again with the weight off his bad arm.

“You absolutely are not,” Jon insisted. Martin shook his head stubbornly, expression still contorted around a grimace. “Look at you, you can hardly move the damn thing.”

“It doesn’t hurt that much, really.” It was an obvious lie. “And anyways, shouldn’t you have more important things to be doing than fussing over my own clumsiness?”

“No,” Jon replied almost instantly, earning a curious look from Martin. “I’m not messing about, Martin. This is serious, things could end up very badly for you if that’s not treated soon. No matter what you think, it  _ is _ broken. I…” Jon turned his gaze to the side, a bit sheepish, “I  _ Know _ , alright?”

“Oh, I-- _ oh _ .” Martin let out a small  _ hmph _ . “I’m not--it’s not--honestly, I’m fine, Jon. Thank you for the concern, but it’s entirely unnecessary.”

“Martin,” Jon turned to look him directly in the eyes, pleading, “You’re in pain.”

“Oh, and I suppose you  _ Know _ that as well, don’t you?” Martin asked, a bit miffed.

“I don’t have to, you’re clearly struggling just standing here!” Jon retorted sharply.

“As I said, thank you for the concern, but I’m  _ alright _ . Really, if you keep worrying on about me like this, all you’re going to do is give yourself a headache,” Martin said with a bit of finality, nodding once before turning back to continue unpacking his bag on the desk. Not without a good deal of flinching, Jon noticed.

“Martin, I--”

“I told you, I’m alright.” He turned sharply, grimacing a bit with the action. “It’s...it’s sweet of you to worry, but really, there’s no need.”

Jon opened his mouth to protest, but Martin had already turned and begun walking purposefully away from him, further into the archives. Jon trailed after him, noticing again how Martin seemed to be putting all his weight into his left side, and off that right shoulder. He frowned.

“Martin--”

“What?” Martin snapped, angling his head just enough to look back. “Need to use the washroom as well?”

“No, but Martin, I  _ really _ think it unwise--”

“Then there’s no need for you to keep following me,” Martin said, turning back round resolutely.

Jon hand inched forward as he debated whether to grab Martin by his good shoulder and give him an earful about how unacceptable it was to go to work with a broken arm. As it would turn out, he wasn’t even given the chance: as Jon found a door being suddenly slammed in his face. The sign for the restrooms glared down at him accusingly.

Jon rapped harshly on the door, grumbling under his breath. Like hell Martin needed to be in there right now, he’d just gotten in.

When he got no response, “Martin! Martin, open the door!”

There came what sounded like a short, heavily muffled ‘no’ from the other side, before the sound of the latch clicking.

“All you’re being is stubborn,” Jon insisted irritably, “You need to get that arm checked out! Martin!”

“Shove off,” came the slightly clearer answer. After a moment’s pause, “I’m serious.”

Jon let a long groan of frustration slip through his teeth, as he continued to pound on the bathroom door. “Honestly, you can’t stay in there forever. You’ll need to come out at  _ some _ point,” he challenged.

“Watch me,” Martin said cheekily.

“Martin you--you need to go to a hospital. Just open the door. Please.” Jon continued to rap, pleas becoming less irritated and more concerned as more time dragged on without any response.

After about a half dozen more times fruitlessly calling after Martin through the door, still met only with silence, Jon felt a hand fall firmly against his shoulder, quieting him.

“Jon, what in hell’s name are you doing?” Daisy’s monotonous voice carried just the barest hints of baffled irritation.

He sighed, turning round as Daisy dropped the hand from his shoulder. “I…” Jon began a bit uselessly, deflating as some of the tension drained from him. “It’s a long story. Been a--a rough morning.”

“Right,” Daisy snorted. “Well, better tell me the whole thing back in your office, then. You look in need of a sit-down.”

“Honestly, I don’t think that would do much to help matters any,” Jon said with a small, humorless chuckle.

“Hmm. Don’t care. You obviously need it. Let’s go,” she said with a note of finality, before turning and walking purposefully away, without checking to see if Jon was following. He did, after another withering glance to the restroom door.

Once they’d gotten seated back in his office, Daisy opting to lean back directly against his desk instead of accepting the fold-out chair he offered, Jon laid out the details of his current dilemma. She nodded in all the right places but remained otherwise silent while he said his piece.

“So, well, what do you think I should do?” Jon tentatively asked once he’d finished, giving Daisy a half-hopeful look. Her eyes flickered to his for a brief moment, before traveling to the ceiling. She hummed, gripping her chin lightly as she thought.

That was something Jon always appreciated about Daisy, how thoughtful she was. Despite how she seemed, nothing was rash with her. Everything was calculated, given heavy consideration. Not just with her own problems, either. Daisy took most things almost too seriously, and while sometimes her calls were a bit more... unconventional, Jon held her opinion in very high regard.

“I think you should kidnap him,” Daisy said finally with a firm nod.

“Absolutely not!” Jon rose to his feet, eyes widening with a mix of shock and bafflement, all while Daisy continued to calmly watch him from her place at the desk. She stared him down for another moment, expressionless.

“Why not?”

“I am, frankly, rather shocked you even need to ask that,” Jon sighed, running a hand back through his hair as he continued to send all sorts of strange looks to Daisy.

“I think it’s a good idea,” she shrugged, turning her attention to the ceiling, “You know how stubborn Blackwood is.”

“I--” Jon paused, taking a moment to chew at the corner of his lip, “Well, yes, Martin can be...rather strong-willed. And opinionated. Usually, on all the most  _ inconvenient _ occasions, mind you, but--”

“You mean like how he’s shut himself up in the loo for near an hour now?”

Jon let out a small, irritated grunt. “Yes. But I’m not going to  _ abduct _ the man over it. There’s---there has to be some better way I can help him  _ realize _ how stubborn he’s being in all this. Honestly, Daisy, who argues about going to the hospital over a  _ broken bone _ ?”

Daisy took another moment to consider that, cheek pushing out slightly as she rolled her tongue around her mouth. “Someone who doesn’t want others worrying on about them, I’d say.” She glanced back down at Jon, gaze steely. “Which’s why you should just grab the bloke unawares and force him along. You know he’ll never go on his own. I’ll help. Got more expertise in that area than you, anyway.”

“I’m...certain, that you do,” Jon replied with a long, shaky breath. “But really, I don’t--hold on.”

Daisy cocked her head at Jon, as he pushed away suddenly from his desk, drifting towards the door with his head tilted out. She sent him a questioning look, but Jon ignored her as he walked right past towards the door, hovering at the handle.

“What’s got into you?” She tried finally.

“I’m not--I don’t... I think I have to go, now,” Jon muttered, half-dazed, as he turned the handle and stumbled out into the hall. Without another word, he continued forward back into the main office space, nearly bumping into Basira as he allowed his feet to carry him forward.

“Whoa, Jon are you--hey, are you alright?”

“Fine, fine, just--” without finishing the thought, nor sparing the glance back at his coworker, Jon continued along. Basira sent him a weird look, before shrugging in the peripherals of his vision, and turning back to her own work.

Jon ended up coming to a halt in front of the restroom door, just as it slid shut past a large form quickly hurrying out from it.

All at once, Jon snapped from his daze, coming back to himself again as he jogged up next to Martin, careful to keep somewhat behind him in case he decided to make a dash for the restrooms again.

“Martin!”

Martin startled, nearly crashing into the wall beside him, and letting out a sharp yelp of mixed shock and pain as his arm jostled uncomfortably. “Jon! What on earth are you--I literally  _ just _ got out! I thought you’d left already.”

“I had.”

“Then how did you know--” Martin paused, narrowed look phasing to one of realization, “Ah. Right. You’re--”

“Yes, right, my whole spooky GPS, I know I  _ know _ . That’s irrelevant to the point I’m trying to make,” Jon got out in a huff.

Martin let out a long sigh, staring Jon in the eye with a look of exasperation. “Look, can’t you just leave it alone? Obviously, you’re not getting me to a hospital. And, really, I don’t even think it’s broken. It doesn’t hurt  _ that bad _ .”

“That’s not--this isn’t--” Jon let out a long hiss of frustration, “This isn’t even a point of argument. I,  _ objectively _ , know that if you do not get that treated, it is going to turn into something much worse than a mere fracture. Please, just let me help you. Oh--and don’t even think about locking yourself up in the restrooms again,” Jon added quickly, sidestepping to block Martin’s path as he noticed him begin to inch back the way they’d come.

“I will go and track down one of the janitor’s that has the key, you know,” Jon threatened.

Martin’s mouth screwed shut, as he threw up his good hand in frustration, “Fine! Fine, be that way then. But I’m not letting you bully me into taking the day off, so if you’ll excuse me, I would very much like to get back to work now.”

Jon tailed Martin as he started back towards his desk, keeping a careful eye on how he was positioning his bad arm. “Really? And how do you suppose you’re going to manage that, with your right hand currently unusable?” Jon retorted, voice edging sarcastically.

Martin huffed. “I’ll--I don’t know, I’ll manage somehow. I used to be ambidextrous, back in primary school. I--”

“You aren’t even denying you can’t use it properly,” Jon interrupted hotly, “So why bother pretending this isn’t upsetting you? Martin I--I know it is. Please, you can’t just decide to ignore a fracture and keep going along as if nothing’s the matter. It’s not--I don’t--”

“It just...stings a bit, alright?” Martin remarked pointedly, struggling to shift his things around the desk with one arm. “Never pretended it didn’t. You’re just being dramatic. Really, Jon, you do have a tendency to catastrophize things like this.”

“That’s wholly beside the point.” Jon got out bitterly. “How can you be so--so stubborn? This isn’t an argument you’re in a position to be making, Martin, if you’d just stop being  _ difficult _ and actually listen to what I’m telling you, then--”

“Or you, know,  _ maybe _ you could stop pestering me for a change and let me handle myself, hm?” Martin snapped, turning sharply to glare down at Jon. “Really, Jon, would it kill you to keep your nose out of everyone else’s business, just for  _ once _ ? I don’t need you tailing me about all day nagging on about something I was planning on taking care of after work  _ anyways _ .”

“I--I hadn’t realized.” Jon faltered, gaze dropping as his argument fell to the floor at Martin’s sharp tone. “You were going to go in anyway? Why make such a fuss, then?”

“Yeah, well,” Martin sighed, softening a bit, “I just didn’t want you hovering around me the whole time getting yourself worked up.” He paused, turning towards Jon with a slightly guilty-expression. “And anyway, I’m--sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. But, honestly, can’t you just trust me to do what’s best for myself? Without your...intervention.”

Jon had to hold back the sharp retort on his tongue to avoid sounding like a broken record. Martin gave him a wary look, to which Jon merely hummed noncommittally. “I...yes, I understand,” he relented finally, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat.

He bit the inside of his cheek, not quite glancing up at Martin as a long pause stretched between them.

“But really, Martin, you can’t just--”

“Jon,” Martin warned.

“Right, right, fine,” Jon groused. He let out a long breath, trying in vain to mask his subtle irritation at Martin’s persistent stubbornness.

“...alright,” Martin began finally, sending Jon a wary look, “Since that’s settled, can I get to work now? Not that holing up in the bathroom for an hour wasn’t a productive start at the day, but you  _ had _ asked me yesterday to follow some leads on some mountaineering incident…?”

Jon didn’t need the not so subtle hint. With a final nod, he turned to leave Martin to it. Not without several concerned back-glances as he made his way back towards his office.

He hadn’t even made it fully to Basira’s desk (who had long ago stopped sending him curious quirks of her eyebrow) before juddering to a stop.

Really, what was he going to do anyway? Fidget about in his office some more, until Martin managed to wind up injuring himself further while he wasn’t under close watch?

No, no he really couldn’t leave an injured man to his own devices. Not in good conscience. Especially not when said man was stubbornly refusing to seek immediate medical help.

Quiet as he could, Jon made a sharp turn, doing his best to remain inconspicuous as he hovered at an adjacent bookshelf filled with document boxes just behind Martin’s desk.

Martin had his bag open on the desk, struggling with it a bit to loose the laptop inside, then, a pair of earbuds. He laid them flat on the desk, hand lingering along the smooth silver casing of the older-looking computer. He hefted a sigh, turning just fractionally.

“Jon, I saw you go back there. Contrary to what you might think, it’s actually a nightmare for my concentration.”

Jon hesitantly moved forward, stopping to fidget with the hem of his coat at the edge of Martin’s desk.

Martin sent him a withering look, “Jon--”

“I know, I know. I’m just,” Jon let out a small breath, running a hand along the back of his neck. “Do you….do you need anything? Or any help with,” he vaguely gestured to Martin’s slightly cluttered work area.

“I’ll let you know if there’s anything. Really,” Martin said a bit tersely.

“Yes, but,” Jon began hesitantly, “Will you?”

The look Martin turned on him was agelessly tired. “ _ Jon _ .”

“I meant what I said when I’d mentioned this was the sort of break you shouldn’t just ignore,” Jon continued, more hesitant at the slightly miffed expression cloudling Martin’s face. “I really don’t think it wise to wait until evening. Besides, what if you happen to fall again while on the tube over to the hospital?”

“I--I--” Martin spluttered, “I’m not  _ that _ clumsy, honestly.”

Jon fell silent, sending him a disbelieving look with one cocked eyebrow.

“What, really? Really,” Martin scoffed, incredulous.

“Well,” Jon offered him a small, half-shrug.

“ _ Well _ , I’ve managed to go years taking the line on my own before now without incident, thank you. Somehow, I think I’ll manage.” Martin gave a little shake of his head, before turning to open his laptop.

“That may be, but at least you had two functioning arms to work with. What if you end up tripping off balance? I just don’t believe it wise to go on your own,” Jon let out a tight breath, fingers fidgeting restlessly against the side of his jaw.

“Jon, I don’t need anyone to  _ nanny _ me,” he huffed. Martin shifted, angling towards Jon so he could send him a properly stern look. “I’ve been living on my own near a decade now, and this is  _ far _ from my first trip to a hospital. I’ve managed on my own this long without any--without your help. Can’t you just accept I’m capable of doing things on my own?”

Jon didn’t have a good response for that, not really. It’s not like he was doubting Martin’s independence. Obviously, he could take care of himself, had he not proved that countless times now? Just...wasn’t he allowed to be a bit concerned, was all?

The words were there, but they stuck sticky to Jon’s tongue, tailing Martin’s bit with a long silence.

Finally, Martin broke it with a sigh. “You’re really not giving this up, are you?”

“Don’t think I will be, no,” Jon answered honestly.

Martin let out a small hum, but this time when he turned away he seemed to be markedly less put out than before. He tapped the edge of the desk with his good hand, brows drawn together. 

“Fine,” Martin said suddenly, causing Jon to jump.

“You’ll--”

“Fine, I’ll take off early. I’ll even let you walk me to the station if it makes you feel any better. But it ends there, I’m not dragging you all the way downtown with me,” Martin sent him a stern look at that, though it was softer than before. “But you’ve honestly got to stop all this hovering.”

“Right, right okay,” Jon let the words rush from him in relief. This was definitely a step in the right direction. It was like some of the weight had fallen off Jon’s chest, and he was glad he’d apparently been getting to Martin more than he’d thought. “You’re still not planning on waiting until after hours though, are you?” He asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him.

“Again?” Martin sighed, “I’ve got work. Honestly, it’s fine, I’ll manage. Not like this job is very labor-intensive, is it? Well, m-most days, I mean,” Martin gave a small, weak laugh, “Besides, this isn’t the first bone I’ve broken. Don’t look so put out, I’ll be careful not to pressure it.”

“When have you broken…” Jon shook his head, “Nevermind, that’s irrelevant. But I’m taking you to the clinic. Now.” The words had a firmer finality in his head, when spoken aloud they sounded more of a desperate plea. Regardless, it seemed to work just as well, by the troubled look that fell over Martin.

“I’ll leave early,’ he settled, as if that were an option.

“Definitely not,” Jon replied.

A small frustrated noise hissed through his teeth, followed by another sigh. “Alright, then by three.”

“Not good enough. Has to be sooner than that,” Jon swallowed thickly, not wanting to dwell on the implications of his words. He merely felt that if Martin waited that long it would somehow be too late. Whether this was from his own concerns or something...more omnipotent in nature, Jon wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know.

Another long pause. “Fine. How about I leave at lunch, hmm? It’s in about an hour anyway.”

Jon crossed his arms, drilling his fingers idly. “I suppose...that would work.”

“Alright,” Martin relented, leaning back in his chair and exhaling slowly. “Glad we could reach something of a compromise. Then, could I  _ finally _ get something done than bickering?”

The next hour and a half dragged at a slug’s pace in Jon’s mind. Much of it was spent with him pacing. For the first part of that, he’d make a pass by Martin’s desk every several minutes or so, but after enough dirty side-glances, he decided to stick to the hallway and his office.

When Daisy had emerged from his office, several minutes after his conversation with Martin, she didn’t say anything more than a quiet, “How’d it work out?” To which Jon responded with a small shake of his head.

On her way back to her desk, she kept glancing between Jon and Martin, angling her head ever so slightly towards his desk and mouthing something Jon was rather glad he couldn’t quite manage to make out.

By the time Basira let out a long sigh, standing with a stretch and collecting Daisy before heading up into the Institute, Jon decided they’d waited long enough.

Martin seemed to have come to the same conclusion, as he was already packing away his things by the time Jon appeared at his desk.

“Need any help?” Jon asked, already having begun to collect several stacks of papers strewn across Martin’s desk into a neater pile, setting them aside. He watched as Martin began to struggle to get his laptop back in its bag with only one useable arm, so he took over: holding the lip of the small satchel open.

Martin didn’t protest as Jon continued to take over the rest of the packing up, and though the expression on his face was tilted, it wasn’t out of irritation as Jon might have guessed. Just sort of...thoughtful.

As they began to make their way out, Jon stopped Martin at the top of the stairs out, going ahead to hold the door open for him. He did the same at the front door, giving a small wave to Rosie behind them on their way out.

“Really, Jon,” Martin said, sounding a bit flustered, as they descended the stairs in front of the Institute, “You needn’t go so far out of your way. I’ve just got a broken arm, it’s not like I can’t shoulder through a door or two. It’s more than enough you’re walking me to the station.”

Martin seemed to flush a bit as he said this, eyes trained on the pavement. “I’m sorry, by the way. For being so peevish earlier.”

“Oh--ah,” Jon peered at Martin curiously, surprised by the sudden apology. Martin kept his eyes on the ground, though. “It’s alright. Honestly, I shouldn’t have pressed so hard. I  _ wouldn’t _ have unless it weren’t important.”

“I know, I know that. It’s not at all like you to hover so much. Just…” he took in a shallow breath, “I’ve been a bit snappish all morning, due to the pain, mostly. The whole ordeal at the tube station earlier put me in a bit of a sour mood, I...I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jon insisted. Martin sent him a look confirming he very much didn’t believe that.

“I’m being serious,” Martin turned sheepish again, hand curling around his ear to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen over his glasses. “I’m -- hold on, aren’t we supposed to be headed towards the station?”

Martin glanced around them, perking up as he realized for the first time since they’d left that they were heading in the entirely opposite direction of the subway.

“Ah, yes. About that. We aren’t going to be taking the underground,” Jon said matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean, we aren’t…” Martin stopped abruptly, turning a baffled look on Jon. “Where are you taking us, then?”

“I’ll drive you. As I said, I don’t want to risk you stumbling again,” Jon gave a small nod, before continuing on down the street. After a moment, Martin trailed after.

“You’ve got a car?” Martin turned to him, incredulous.

“Yes,” Jon began a bit hesitantly, thrown off by the mix of looks he was getting, “Though I end up having to park it a bit far off. Sorry, but it’s a bit of a trek.”

Martin shook his head, “No, no it’s fine just--I never took you as the sort who would need to drive anywhere?”

Jon shrugged, “It was my grandmother’s in the first place. I use it mainly out of convenience. Besides, public transit can be a nightmare.” Jon shuddered. “Too many people, far too close together on the tube. Plus taxi charges do build up.”

“That’s--yeah, I suppose that makes sense,” over the initial surprise, Martin’s expression turned tight again, “But, honestly, walking me to the station is one thing. But driving us there is another entirely I--I wouldn’t feel right, knowing I’d made you miss out on a whole day at the institute. Bad enough I’m already going to be out.”

“I wouldn’t be able to focus anyway,” Jon waved him off.

“Listen, I really think I’d prefer to walk myself. I can’t ask you to do this for me Jon, you understand.”

Jon let out a small huff of frustration as Martin stopped dead once again, shooting him all sorts of stern looks.

“Be that as it may,” Jon began, “ Just let me do this, won’t you? My car’s right here, anyhow.” Jon nodded across the street. Martin narrowed his gaze, turning between Jon and the squat black dinosaur of a vehicle sat across the street.

“Fine,” Martin said, relenting to follow Jon across. “But know it’s only because I don’t feel like walking all the way to the station from here.”

Once in the car, Martin fidgeted with the seat buckle in silence as Jon typed the address for the closest hospital into his phone. He frowned at the projected time but didn’t say anything as he situated himself and pulled out onto the road.

“You know, it’s been ages since I’ve been driven anywhere,” Martin remarked offhandedly, glancing quickly at Jon. “I usually just take the underground anymore. And it’s sort of strange being in the front like this, anyway.”

The traffic wasn’t great, and they ended up stopped often enough Jon kept finding himself glancing towards Martin.

He seemed more distracted by the interior of the car more than anything, angling his head about as his eyes roved the dashboard and front window. He glanced behind him into the back seat, this oddly revenant sort of look crossing his face that, for some reason, began to make Jon feel a bit self-conscious.

It’s not as if his car were messy, just a few stacks of papers lying in the back seat he’d forgotten to return to his desk in the archives. Still, Martin seemed enamored.

Under different circumstances, Jon may have found it endearing, how amused Martin seemed to be. But as it was, he was far too wound to entertain such fanciful thinking. Too focused on driving slowly, stopping carefully, making sure he didn’t jostle Martin around too much and, as a result, upset his broken arm any more than it was already.

Through his peripherals, Jon watched Martin poke a stuffed keychain of a cartoonish ghost dangling from his mirror.

“Who's this little guy?” He asked curiously.

“Oh, ah, it was a gift from Sasha, last Christmas,” Jon tapped the steering wheel with two fingers, “I think it was meant to be a joke but...well, I just sort of forgot to take it down.”

“Ah,” Martin fell quiet, “Right.”

The conversation lapsed to quiet after that, the silence near-oppressive in the small, cramped space of the car. Martin’s irritation at him seemed to have dulled considerably, but all that did was make Jon more aware of how uncomfortable he appeared to be through the pain. For as much as he tried to drive carefully, Jon didn’t miss the small winces and hissing air through teeth when he’d stop too quickly, or take a turn a bit too sharply.

The discomfort fueled a very specific sort of tension, that built at the base of Jon’s skull and clouded his thinking. He hummed lightly to himself, thoughts distracted.

His earlier feeling of  _ off-ness _ had ended up being set off by Martin’s initial tumble, at least he assumed that’s what had started it. This felt similar but…

Jon decided to try something he’d most often try and avoid -- he pressed against the feeling further, trying to Know it.

Jon pushed out with the edges of his mind, latching onto the feeling of unease he could feel gradually mounting between them: dissecting it. He was almost instantly rewarded for his efforts with a rare show of convenient accuracy. Almost instantly, the knowledge poured into his mind as a clear explanation.

Jon couldn’t help the frown that had settled on his face. More than being only vaguely aware of it, he could feel the flaring pain in Martin’s whole arm seep into his own consciousness as a thin string of information.

It was like feeling pain through a dream: he couldn’t feel it obviously, but Jon had the knowledge of it sting nearly as sharp. It was strange and discordant, but regardless had him rattled.

Jon cast a worried look at Martin, frankly shocked at how calm he appeared through all this. Even the slightest bumps in the road should have him hissing through his teeth from the agony he was supposedly in. And yet his face was a perfect mask of calm. At the most he only looked a bit tensed up, his jaw clenched and eyes set determinedly ahead.

Jon began to drill his fingers against the wheel again, fixing his attention firmly on road again. He jolted, quickly pulling forward again after realizing he’d been stopped a bit too long at a light.

He worried his lower lip, torn between his determination to keep from speeding for Martin’s sake, and glancing over every half second to make sure he was doing alright. Perhaps his earlier foray into Martin’s condition had been a mistake: now that he’d opened the gate to it, every slight movement or wrong twist he made sent a shocking jolt of non-pain through Jon’s brain. He’d begun to bounce the leg off the gas pedal now as well, desperate for any sort of release.

How could Martin appear so calm? How had he  _ insisted _ that he wasn’t in agony? It was ridiculous.

Jon jolted as the robotic voice of his phone’s sat-nav informed him he’d nearly missed a turn, which he was forced to take a bit too quickly. The sudden movement was enough to cause Martin to let out another physical grunt as the pain in his arm flared again.

“Honestly, I wish you hadn’t been so stubborn and let me drive you from the start,” Jon said suddenly, glancing down at his phone again to make sure he wasn’t going to miss anymore turns. “I shouldn’t have let you push it off to lunch even,” he muttered.

Martin heaved a sigh. “God, not this again. Look, we are literally headed there now, aren’t we? You even got me to leave work early. I’m still opposed to this as well, you know. Making me be even more of a bother by insisting on driving.”

“You’re not a bother,” Jon’s frown deepened.

“Yeah, well. Sort of feels like it.” Martin fell silent again after that, turning his attention back out the passenger-side window. Jon huffed. It was his fault in the first place for being so stubborn, but Martin wasn’t being a  _ bother _ . Why would he think that?

“I really had been planning on taking care of this myself, before all your meddling,” Martin said quietly, breaking the silence. He hadn’t looked up when he said it, gaze still fixated out the window. He sighed. “I really wish you hadn’t gone so far out of your way just for my sake.”

His voice was weaker this time, less persistent and more...hollow.

“That’s nonsense,” Jon said, voice soft, “You would have had a miserable time managing transit with a broken bone.”

“Obviously,” Martin heaved. He seemed to be struggling on the words, and when they did come out they were quiet and reserved. “But I just...I really do hate putting people out like this. It’s far worse than getting jostled around a bit too much on the tube on my own, honestly.”

“That makes no sense. If you knew you were going to be miserable, why not just accept my help from the beginning? It’s not like I wasn’t offering.”

“You were being nosy,” Martin huffed, “It’s not like I asked for it.”

Jon merely raised an eyebrow, half-turning a questioning look on Martin.

Another sigh. “I’m really not used to having people worrying about me so much is all. It’s...look, it’s just a bit off-putting, alright? I’ve been able to manage on my own most of my life, it’s more...I don’t know, more  _ comfortable _ .”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon could see Martin stare off out the front window, a faraway look in his eyes. He quickly shook it away, however.

“It’s just--I don’t like feeling like I owe anyone. No that’s not--maybe that’s not the best way of putting it. Not like I thought you would be calling in favors for this or anything, I know you’re not like that, it’s just...I hate feeling like a burden? I suppose?”

Jon didn’t respond, even when Martin let out a long, shaky breath. “I’ve always been clueless and sort of clumsy,” he continued, letting out a small, dry laugh, “I mean I’m pretty sure you hated me for it, back when we all first started. Don’t deny it.”

“Martin, really, I was being unfair then. I know better now,” Jon insisted, trying to sound as genuine as possible.

Martin waved him off, “I know, I know, things are different now. But still, it always feels like I”m taking up too much space, you know? So I do my part to keep out of everyone else’s way. So whenever anyone offers to help, I end up too stressed out about not inconveniencing anybody, I just end up avoiding it. Does that make sense? I--I’m sorry, you probably don’t need to hear any of this.”

“No, I--I’m sorry you feel that way. Truly,” Jon took a sharp breath in, “But if it’s any consolation, Martin, I genuinely do not think you’ve ever been a burden. Even during my...erm,  _ problem _ year. Not really. Any desire to help you is my own. I do genuinely…well. I care about you. You know that, don’t you?”

Now it was Jon’s turn to keep his eyes firmly ahead of them, his mouth going a bit dry.

“Yeah,” Martin said, voice soft, “Thanks for that.”

The rest of the car trip was spent in silence after that, only filled with the dull reminder in the back of Jon’s head of Martin’s broken bone, though now that only made him edge the car just a bit faster.

\--

The hospital was noisy and crowded, despite being the middle of the day, and smelled intensely sterile. Jon wrinkled his nose. He’d never been keen on the smell of doctor’s offices and clinics, but he tried not to let his discomfort show too plainly on his face.

Martin hadn’t stopped watching him with this careful, guarded expression ever since the car, his eyes deeply thoughtful. So he kept his own expression carefully schooled, eager to quell any of the insecurities Martin had shared earlier in the car. Martin had always been one of those “actions over words” sorts of people, and Jon didn’t want to undermine his statement earlier by seeming overly nervous now.

Martin insisted on checking himself in at the front, and after quite a bit of shooing Jon finally relented to go find a spot in the corner of the waiting room to cram himself into.

Lowering back into the creaky chair with a small, frustrated huff, Jon crossed one leg over the other and watched Martin from across the room. There was a small line at the front desk, which only served to mount the cocktail of anxiety and irritation at the slow pace of the hospital. Forcing his attention away, Jon began to pick at the faded blue fabric stitched along the top of the armrest.

At least there weren’t too many people about. While the room itself seemed to get a constant in-and-out flow, there weren’t very many people in the actual seating area, thankfully.

“Hey.”

Jon’s head snapped up, to watch Martin carefully making his way to where Jon sat, carefully planting himself in the adjacent chair.

“So…?” Jon asked, not quite managing to mask the hint of desperation in his tone.

Martin shrugged. “They said it...may be a bit. They’re overbooked at the moment, supposedly.”

Jon stared at Martin, hands continuing to fidget with the fabric of the chair. After a moment, he stood. “I’m going to go over and talk to them.”

“No, no no let’s not have that,” Martin called, quickly grabbing Jon’s wrist and pulling him back down into the chair. “It’s fine, honestly. Not like they aren’t doing their best, no need to harass the secretary over it.”

“I wasn’t going to--right, alright! Fine, we’ll wait,” Jon conceded, at the stern look Martin shot him.

They were stuck waiting nearly an hour, much to Jon’s quiet frustration. He tried not to let it show too plainly, but every once in a while, he couldn’t help but give a small quip about inefficiency, once or twice even threatening to go talk to reception again. Thankfully Martin didn’t seem to mind much, meeting these with small chuckles and mild amusement. Which was probably for the better.

Jon had long since dashed any hope of this incessant anxiety quelling once they were inside the hospital. It was different now, almost worse, but Jon did his best to tamp it down as he made quiet conversation with Martin. It worked to calm him down, to some extent.

Only to have it spike all over again when a nurse finally appeared to call Martin back.

“For...Mr. Blackwood?”

Jon’s head shot towards the friendly-looking nurse, and Martin once again had to steady him in his chair to keep Jon from following him in.

“You’ll be alright on your own?” Jon asked hesitantly, pouting a bit.

“I’ve been to the doctor before,” Martin said with an eye roll. He had a small, good-natured smile on, though it was a bit tight. “Somehow, I think I’ll manage.”

So Jon just quietly nodded and allowed Martin to be led back and out of view.

Somehow, it was so much  _ worse _ when he no longer had Martin in his line of sight. It had dulled considerably since the car, but Jon could still sense the memory of pain he’d locked onto before. And without the mix of worried, comforting, and amused little side looks he’d been getting all afternoon, he found the whole situation much less manageable.

He kept checking his watch, then glancing up at the small analog clock above the reception desk. It was as if the seconds were purposefully ticking by slower the more he watched, which caused an irritated little scowl to form across his mouth.

He wished he’d thought to bring a book, or a statement, or something with him at least. Some sort of distraction. He’d even forgotten his mobile back in the car.

After a near-agonizing ten minutes of clock-watching and practically fidgeting out of his own skin, Jon rose and began to anxiously pace the empty back row of chairs. He didn’t miss the mix of concerned and sympathetic glances he was getting from others in the room, but at this point he was just so desperate to be doing  _ something _ , he was hard-pressed to care.

Doctors had never been particularly nerve-wracking for him, past the general childhood fear of needles and strange sterile rooms. Even when his grandmother had been admitted into the hospital, Jon hadn’t even been close to this fidgety.

Although to be fair, he hadn’t been anxiously waiting around in a sitting room at the time. He’d been home, probably reading. Which likely made some difference.

Jon stopped in his pacing, ignoring the worried look he was getting from a woman two rows ahead of him, letting out a small tired huff. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, honestly.

He checked his watch again.

It shouldn’t be taking this long, should it? What would they need, just an x-ray, perhaps a few other scans? What did it mean if they were taking this long, was it worse than he’d thought?

Well, he knew  _ exactly  _ how severe the break had been, but he had no idea what that meant for Martin. Jon was no doctor.

Perhaps the doctor had left him alone to wait by himself in a cold, isolated room somewhere. Martin would hate that, even if he’d never admit as much. Jon should have pressed harder, really, convinced Martin to let him tag along. Maybe more for his own sanity than anything.

At the forty minute mark, Jon finally caved to his nerves and briskly made his way to the front desk.

Thankfully there was no line this time, and the squat blonde woman behind the counter shone him a bright smile.

“Hello, excuse me,” Jon cut in, interrupting whatever pleasantry the receptionist had attempted to begin, “Sorry for the bother, but I’ve been waiting on my--ah, colleague, for a while now. What’s taking so long?”

The force of the words had slipped out without Jon even having realized he was compelling the question, but it was too late now. No harm done, really, it’s not like he was asking anything personal.

“We’re dreadfully understaffed today, so everything’s been taking longer than usual,” the woman replied candidly, with that same bright expression, “Two of the nurses from this wing called in sick last minute and we weren’t able to get their shifts filled. It’s been like this all day: we’re actually pretty slow for a Tuesday afternoon, but it’s still hard to keep up short-handed.”

Jon opened his mouth around another question about how long x-rays usually take, when the door to the main hospital creaked open suddenly, swiveling Jon’s head round just in time to see Martin walking out, his back turned as he spoke with someone on the other side of the door.

From what he could see, Martin’s bad arm had been wrapped in a plastic and velcro cast, held up against him with a thin black sling. Jon frowned.

“Sorry, I’ll...thank you,” Jon mumbled distractedly to the receptionist.

Jon had to force a slow pace as he crossed the room, meeting with Martin just as he let the door swing shut behind him.

“How’d it go?” Jon asked, not bothering to wait for Martin to notice him on his own.

He jolted, before letting out a small, relieved breath upon seeing Jon. “Fine. Let’s get out of here for now then, shall we? I don’t think I can stand the smell much longer.”

As they made their way back to Jon’s car, he made Martin walk through everything that the doctor had told him verbatim, even despite the cross looks he was getting. Jon couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t pestering merely for the sense of overwhelming relief it gave him.

Martin’s face soured a bit as they exited out onto the main street. “Well, they said it was bad, far as breaks go. Really bad. Like, I’ll be off it for at least a month, bad. Said it’ll take twice as long to heal fully after that, still. Means I’m stuck with this thing for the foreseeable future,” Martin tapped lightly on the hard plastic of the cast. “Think I’ll name it Charlie.”

At the extended silence, Martin let out a small sigh, before continuing. “Anyways...I, ah, thankfully didn’t need any surgery done on it.” His voice fell suddenly, and Martin turned away, eyes locking on the ground. “Could have, though, if I’d left it any longer without setting it.”

Martin fidgeted, and he appeared a bit flush. “Thanks for...ya know,” he started sheepishly, “Pressuring me to go and all. Saved me a lot of hassle.”

They packed into Jon’s car silently. Just as Jon was about to pull out onto the street, Martin perked up suddenly,

“Now, hold on a tick,” he turned on Jon accusingly, “Oh no, no. You’ve done  _ more _ than enough today. I am not letting you trick me into letting you drive us back.”

“What’s your address?” Jon asked, disregarding Martin’s protests, as began to fidget with his phone, still placed atop the dashboard.

Martin stared at him a full moment in disbelief. “You are not driving me back,” he said determinedly. “There’s a station, not two blocks from here, I’m taking that.” With a nod of finality, Martin turned to open the door.

Without glancing up, Jon pressed the car lock.

Martin tried the handle several times, only to have it click uselessly. He let out a small, frustrated noise. “Jon.”

“Hmm?”

“Unlock this. Now.”

“Not until you give me your address,” he hummed.

“Then--I’m not--I told you already, I’m not putting you out any longer,” Martin huffed.

“Come on,” Jon said softly, turning a pleading look on Martin, “It won’t take long. And I can’t imagine your arm is feeling better enough you’d want to be navigating the subway right now, anyways. Please just...let me do this for you?”

Martin stared at him a long moment, expression unreadable. Finally, he melted back, giving in as he leaned back against the headrest. “Alright,” he said quietly. Jon didn’t miss the small look of gratitude Martin sent him.

Jon’s lips quirked up at the corners slightly, the sense of warmth budding in his chest finally managing to chase out any lingering feelings of tightness. “Great,” he said cheerily, “Now...your address?”

Jon gestured to his phone, still open to the maps app, only to be met with confused silence.

“Now hold on,” Martin said, gears turning plainly on his face, “What did you need that for?”

“Well, obviously I’m not letting you go back to work. So I’m giving you a lift home. Sound alright?” Jon said with another shake of his phone.

“Now hold on, I--” Martin leaned forward, a bit flustered. He cut himself off, taking in a deep breath, before continuing at a much less frantic pace. “Yes, alright...thank you. Really.”

Martin held out his hand, and Jon gladly gave him the phone to begin tapping in the way to his flat.

“Naturally you’ll be taking the rest of the week off as well,” Jon said casually, glad to find Martin only shot him another incredulous look, but didn’t protest otherwise, “And before you tell me I’m  _ overreacting _ , you did almost need surgery.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that bit,” Martin sighed, handing back the phone, “Now you won’t ever let me go anywhere on my own.”

The drive back was filled with an easy silence, only occasionally interrupted by Martin commenting on various signs or buildings they passed. He was in markedly better spirits, and at the very least seemed to be in considerably less pain than before. That was good.

Still, it didn’t keep Jon from glancing over to check on him every other minute, to which Martin firmly reminded Jon to keep his eyes on the road. He’d catch small, pleased looks on Martin’s face whenever he did this though, so Jon didn’t regard the advice too seriously.

As they pulled up to Martin’s flat, he’d gotten very quiet again. Jon snuck a few final worried glances his way but found Martin didn’t look distressed per say...yet he had this odd look on his face.

Martin’s flat was an incredibly narrow building, made of dry grey brick and nestled snugly between two other units twice its height. It didn’t feel cramped or claustrophobic though, more homely, and Jon thought that suited Martin very well.

Martin didn’t even try to protest when Jon offered to walk him to his door.

Realistically, he  _ did _ understand that following him further was seriously pushing his limits, but Jon was still hesitant to leave Martin alone. Lucky for him, Martin hesitated at the door, turning back to face Jon. His expression was still odd. A sort of...guarded openness.

“Well, here we are,” Martin let out a small chuckle that quickly died off. “I, uh...er that is to say...thanks?” He ran a hand back through his hair, tousling the loose curls. His voice was soft. “For all of this. I mean not just the hospital the--well, what you said earlier in the car as well, a-about me. It meant a lot.”

“As I said before, it’s really not a problem,” Jon faltered, folding his hands together tightly in front of him, “Besides, I meant what I said before. I’m doing this only because I care about you Martin, no other reason.” For some reason, the words caused a small flash of heat to rise to his face.

“I-I really am very grateful,” Martin blustered, squirming. Jon sent him a look, but Martin was avoiding his gaze. “For everything--honest.” He trailed off, obviously flustered, and earning a look of confusion.

The next moment though he was looking straight at Jon again, a flushed yet determined set to his eyes, before quickly leaning in and pressing a kiss against Jon’s cheek. He pulled back after a moment, his face notably much redder than before.

“Thank you I--t-thanks again,” Martin managed to stammer out, “I’d, er, happily do the same for you, j-just so you know. Oh, ah, not to say I hope you go around breaking bones any time soon, but. Well. Right. I’ll, uh, see you at work then.”

Martin turned and retreated through his door almost too quick to process. Or perhaps it was just that Jon was having something of a time processing much of anything at the moment, his own face considerably heated and ears ringing slightly.

“See you,” Jon mumbled out to empty air a moment later, before turning to head back to his car, an impossibly wide grin on his face.


End file.
